


A Little Bit of Love

by ItsTeatimeSomewhere



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Grantaire, Cosmetics au, Current Events, First Date, M/M, Pining Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsTeatimeSomewhere/pseuds/ItsTeatimeSomewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a stupid idea, Enjolras reasons. After all, he's bound to get caught, bound to get put in jail, and it will be on his record forever. Then how could he run for president? It had all started with an advertisement Joly had brought in, saying it was the perfect way to get inside information on ABC Cosmetics.</p><p>MODEL WANTED.<br/>WANTED: Male, aged 25-30 blonde.<br/>Call Les Amis De l’ABC Cosmetics for more information.</p><p>Or the one where Grantaire is an artist at a cosmetics company and somehow Enjolras is his model.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Bit of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Title from MIKA's Happy Ending
> 
> Gosh I'm so glad this story is finished, it took way too much damn time. Hope you enjoy! xoxo gossip girl
> 
> EDIT: holytrenchcoat was lovely enough to point out I had a shit-load of grammatical issues, so I'll try to fix them all now! Thanks for your help! (pst if you catch any others please tell me xoxo thanks dears)

It is a stupid idea, Enjolras reasoned. After all, he is bound to get caught, bound to get put in jail, and it would be on his record forever. Then how could he run for president? It has all started with an advertisement Joly has brought in, saying it is the perfect way to get inside information on ABC Cosmetics.

MODEL WANTED.  
WANTED: Male, aged 25-30 blonde.  
Call Les Amis De l’ABC Cosmetics for more information.

Enjolras has rolled his eyes, but Joly has gone on and on about how it is perfect, and soon he has Bossuet, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre on his side. And when you has Combeferre, no one could say no.

Grudgingly, Enjolras has agreed, which is why he has shown up at the massive glass skyscraper for an interview.

Les Amis de l’ABC is a new cosmetics company, better known to the public as ABC Cosmetics. It is a stupid pun on the French word for abased, as ABC believed that they were friends of the ugly and friends of the idiotic, and could help them become beautiful and loved with their tested-on-animal products.

Enjolras hated them. They were famous for their billboards and advertisements, as the head of artistic design is apparently very good. Enjolras admitted that the campaigns for “Rouge et Noir” and “Les Amis” were very well done, but that doesn’t exclude the fact that the company is a terrible investment that spent billions of dollars killing animals and overworking innocent people in sweatshops around the world.

As he pulls open the door, Enjolras is hit with the scent of some perfume, and he rolls his eyes at the beautiful men and women whose faces lined the walls. A dark-skinned model walks up to him, her smile white and perfect.

“Welcome to ABC Cosmetics. How may we help you today, sir?” she asks, blinking prettily at him.

“I’m here for the model interview.”

“Well of course! R will be expecting you, I presume.” She motions with her hand, and he follows her out of the atrium and down a simple hallway, ending at two double doors.

“Right through here, sir,” she opens one door for him. “And good luck.”

Enjolras thanks her and walks into the oddest office he has ever been in. From the company and the building, he has expected something chic and modern, maybe some art on the walls or a stupid sculpture probably made in china. Instead, he is greeted with a warehouse-like space that is empty save for a plastic table and chairs and a few easels here and there. Papers are tacked to the walls haphazardly, and a man with curly black hair sits in the middle, bent over a sketchbook. At the sound of the door, he looks up, and Enjolras sees the bluest eyes he has ever seen.

“You must be Enjolras!” The man shouts, springing up. He walks over, holding out a paint-covered hand. “I’m R, head of artistic development here at ABC. And let me say, you are just what I is looking for.” He smirks and walks in a circle around Enjolras.

“And what is that?” Enjolras asks, trying to keep the disdain from his voice.

“Like fucking Apollo himself,” R replies, winking as he comes full circle. “I’m going to love this campaign. Mind taking your shirt off?”

“Moving a bit fast, are we?”

“You know this is a primarily nude campaign, right? _Un Coeur Plein d’Amour_ is targeted at a very specific audience, and you are going to help us with that. Not that I won’t like it too.”

Enjolras sighs and begins to unbutton his shirt. Really, this man, R, is exhausting, and Enjolras has been in his presence for mere seconds. He hopes he gets something good out of this, or he would have sat in a room with this snarky asshole for too long. All he needs is information that would be beneficial in his campaign against the company. If he got that, well this would all be worth it.

R whistles as Enjolras pulled off his undershirt. “When can you start, pretty-boy?”

“When do you need me?” Enjolras hoped the floor isn’t too dirty as he dropped his shirt on the ground. Really, it is so hard to find vegan, fair-trade shirts these days.

“Tomorrow? Let’s make it 3pm, and I’ll have a car come and get you. We’ll be shooting at this studio downtown, and I don’t want a face like that getting lost.”

What an ass. “Sounds good. Thank you for this opportunity.”

“No, thank you, Apollo.” He picks up Enjolras’ shirts and hands them to the unclothed man. “Have a nice day.” The artist turns back to his sketchbook, flopping on the ground and flipping to a new page as Enjolras put his clothes back on. With a murmured goodbye, Enjolras leaves the office—if you could even call it that—and rushes back to the café where his friends were waiting.

“So?” Courfeyrac says as he bustles inside. “How’d it go?”

“The artist is insane and obnoxious and an utter dickwad.”

Courfeyrac chuckles. “Really got under your skin, doesn’t he?”

“I never wanted to do this in the first place.”

“It’ll suck,” Combeferre chimes in, “but it’ll be worth it when we can bring down ABC Cosmetics. Think of the future, Enjolras. This is our biggest idea yet, and we can’t let it fall through.”

Enjolras nods. “I just hate him.”

“Do you like anyone?” Courfeyrac mutters, walking back to the bar. Soon, Enjolras is caught up in the most recent ideas, especially ones concerning ABC Cosmetics. Combeferre has discovered some new statistics, and Joly linked them to obscure illnesses with menacing names—it is always good to have a hypochondriac on the team. With the discussion going, Enjolras found he is able to forget the snark of R, but even Courfeyrac’s jokes and raunchy singing can’t get the man’s eyes out of his head.

.oOo.

At 3pm sharp, Enjolras is waiting outside his apartment, wondering how R would find him. After all, he didn’t sign any forms or even give an email for contact. In fact, he hasn’t even signed a contract. Is this really a legitimate business?

His musings are interrupts by a sleek town car pulling up next to him. A burly man with sunglasses gets out of the front. “Mr. Enjolras?” he asks, and when Enjolras nods, opens the door.

Seated inside the car is perhaps the oddest man Enjolras has ever seen. He has wispy, blonde hair that is filled with ribbons and flowers, and is wearing garish yellow jeans and a hideous jumper two sizes too big that is a deep blue with cats all over the damn thing. In his hand, the man holds two coffees, and he offers one to Enjolras as he sat down.

“Hi there!” he says, his voice high and melodious. “I suppose you’re the Apollo ‘Taire has been talking about? I’m Jehan, his PA and designated driver. Today’s going to be a blast! I mean, you are going to look so fucking good next to ‘Ponine. It’s like you were meant for each other! Like, her hair and yours will look so incredible! I can see the contrast now,” he spreads his arms, almost spilling the coffee in the process. “Brooding eyes—yours are perfect—and a sultry smile behind the words _une nuit lumière comme le jour_. Aah! I can’t wait!”

This all comes out so fast that Enjolras barely has time to breath. “Wait. Who’s ‘taire?”

Jehan burst into laughter. “Oh god, don’t tell me he played the ‘Mysterious R’ card! That is precious! No, his name is Grantaire but he likes the anonymity of being known by a letter. He seems like a pretentious douche, but he’s a great guy.”

Enjolras simply nods. Well, the pretentious douche part is sure right.

Jehan tries to engage in conversation for the majority of the trip, eventually deciding that Enjolras is a lost cause, and he then proceeded to yap on his phone—a fucking iPhone—until they reach their destination. Enjolras follows Jehan into what looks like the set of a post-apocalyptic movie. The backdrop is painted with burning buildings and crumbling skyscrapers, and piles of broken cars and ash litter the street. A broken streetlamp stands on the corner, and the entire thing is lit with a dull, yellow light.

R—Grantaire stands off to one side, chatting with a dark-haired woman and a freckly man. However, when Jehan and Enjolras entered, he comes bounding over, wearing nothing but a pair ripped jeans and a white t-shirt. “Jehan! It’s great to see you!” he gives the smaller man a kiss on the cheek, and turns to Enjolras. “And Apollo, fantastic as always.”

“We’ve met once.”

“Twice now, and let’s not forget that I’ve already seen you naked. I think were past the point of acquaintances.”

Enjolras just glowers. _It’s only for a little bit,_ he reminds himself, _and it will all be over soon._

“Now let me introduce you to your co-model, the lovely Eponine.” He waves the girl over, and Enjolras sees that she is, indeed, pretty. Chocolate hair cascaded down her back where it met at a tiny waistline. Her skin is a lovely copper and her eyes are big and powerful.

“You’re right, ‘Taire. He’s delectable.”

Fuck, are they all like this?

“I know, right? Now the fun will _really_ begin.” He walks away, his pants riding too low for Enjolras’ comfort. “Let’s start with the cover photo, people!” he shouts, and a dozen men and women came scurrying out of the shadows, dragging Eponine and Enjolras off to god knows where.

Too soon, Enjolras is naked, save for a pair of red boxers, and covered in makeup and oil until his chest is dripping. His hair has been tugged and doused in gel until it is “artfully tousled”, and his lips has been pinched until they puff out painfully. Eponine seems to be in the same position, although she is wearing a nude bra and a pair of shorts. As Enjolras frowns at his own undergarments, Grantaire came stumbling out, a bottle in his hand.

“Have no fear, Apollo. These clothes will soon be gone. Sadly, we’re not allowed to shoot full-nudes, but what can I say, I’m method, if nothing else.” Throwing directions at a few people, he walks over to the pair and began positioning them around the debris. Eventually, he calls for “party time!” which seems to constitute as time to remove his clothes.

Face reddening, Enjolras tugs down the boxers and Grantaire whistled. “I’d say by your hair that you were compensating, but it seems I is mistaken.” He turns to Eponine. “Lovely as always, dearest.”

“Fuck off,” Eponine replies, moving into position.

The shoot is long and uncomfortable, as Enjolras has to hold the same awkward position for minutes on end. The lights were glaring down, and his body soon becomes slick as oil mixed with sweat. Eponine, of course, isn’t helping, as she is as bad as him, and sharing body heat made it worse.

The icing on the cake are the multitude of comments Grantaire makes as he takes the photos.

“I like that, Apollo! But give me some frown! As if we woke up in bed together, that’s it! Love it!”

“Hips out, dear. Can’t hide the best part about you!”

“Enjolras, I don’t know if it’s her smell or her boobs, but I’m going to need you closer to ‘Ponine over there. Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite too hard.” Eponine lets out a snicker at this one. “Scratch that, she’s a fierce one.”

“I want: just-has-forbidden-sex! Give me the shame! Give me the anger! C’mon, Apollo. Show me the fucking _fire_!”

Eventually, it’s time for a break, and Enjolras gladly takes a towel from one of the assistants. This is a lot harder than he thought. In fact, he doesn’t know how much more he could stand.

_Get me out of here –E_

**Is it that bad? I mean, how hard can modelling be? –C**

_It’s a fucking nightmare, ‘Courf. The artist, Grantaire, won’t shut up and I’m ready to kill someone –E_

**Remember, E. For justice. –C**

_Not even justice should be worth being told to “show him the ass” twelve times. –E_

**Never mind, I love this guy. –C**

Enjolras shuts his phone, realizing Courfeyrac would be more work than help. He then simply sits outside the studio, attempting to convince himself that this is worth it. But peace doesn’t last long, as he is joined by a familiar mop of curls.

“Want one?” Grantaire asks, holding out a package of cigarettes. Enjolras shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something.

“Don’t even try, pretty-boy. All that ‘smoking kills’ shit will work about as well as it would on a cat. Besides,” he takes a drag from the now-lit cigarette. “Other things will kill me faster.”

Enjolras frowns, but doesn’t say anything. For a few moments, he’s glad of the other man’s silence, but then remembers his job.

“What got you into working for ABC in the first place?” he asks, trying to be nonchalant.

“Money, mostly. I mean, it pays really well and I get to sit on my ass and take pictures of beautiful people all day. What could be better?”

“Why not work for someone else, like, Origins or something?” Origins is fair-trade, and Enjolras even bought their products from time to time.

“Have you seen those ads? They’re all of nature and shit. Nothing fun like this. Here, I get to decide exactly what I want to do and when I want to do it. Not like I actually care about the products.”

Enjolras frowns. “So you don’t care about the millions of animals exploited every day? And the underpaid workers who make your job happen?”

“God, does it really matter? Thousands of animals die every day,” he mocks Enjolras’ tone, “by simply living. It’s just natural selection, Apollo. We’re just helping it along a bit.”

“Yes, by forcing your distasteful products down their throat to see if they die or not! Caustic chemicals applied to their eyes, blinding them and leaving them to fend for themselves?”

“You’re seriously going to get into this?”

“Of course! Because animal testing isn’t accurate at all! The human reactions to such products are never the same as those of mice and rats! Why hurt-“ Shit. So much for keeping a low profile. He’s supposed to be here to get information on the inner workings of the company, not to yell at idiotic artists.

Grantaire, of course, is laughing. “Oh Apollo, your eyes blaze when you go on a rant! Don’t stop on my account! It’s truly an inspiring sight!” He brushes a stray piece of hair off of Enjolras’ forehead. “I’ll do anything I can to see that again,” he says, his voice lower.

Enjolras can’t help the blush that rises to his cheeks, but Grantaire has already turned around so his embarrassment is a secret. Taking a deep breath, he follows Grantaire back into the warehouse, mentally preparing himself for three more hours of this.

.oOo.

By the time it ends, Enjolras has been blinded by the lights and he is itching to ish his hair. He hasn’t learned anything from the shoot except that the new line of products is coming from somewhere in Indonesia. Unless he finds a name of a sweatshop or a laboratory, this experience will only be worth the measly pay.

“Damn,” Grantaire calls as Enjolras is about to leave. “Apollo, I’m gonna need you to sign some forms. Promise it won’t take long, dearest.” He points the car Jehan has just gotten in, and Enjolras sighs before walking over. This might actually be his chance to find something. Access into the headquarters? Perfect.

The ride is, in shortest terms, awkward. Enjolras is sitting right next to Grantaire and can very nearly touch the man. Grantaire is joking around with the driver and brushes Enjolras’ arm or leg every once in a while. Jehan, meanwhile, is all but thrumming with energy as he grins, looking back and forth between the two men.  

When they finally reached the building, Enjolras can’t wait to get out of the car. The door opens and he bolts out, much to the amusement of Grantaire and Jehan.

“Filling out forms that exciting for you, Apollo?” Grantaire laughs, following him at a much slower pace.

Enjolras feels himself blushing, but follows Grantaire back into the atrium. The artist seems to know everyone, kissing women on the cheek or winking at pretty men. Jehan is texting furiously and Grantaire has to pull him out of the way of oncoming traffic many times, but soon they reach the barren space that is Grantaire’s office.

“Make yourself at home, dear, and I’ll grab those forms,” Grantaire whistles, blowing Enjolras a kiss.

He didn’t blush again, he didn’t.

Jehan mutters something about a date and rushes out after Grantaire, leaving Enjolras alone in the room.

Finally, he hurries to the desk, carefully flipping through papers. It’s doubtful that someone like Grantaire would have documents he could use, but every little bit helped. He digs through receipts for styling equipment, sketches of the space, font designs for the whole campaign, and, at the very bottom, a sketchbook.

Glancing towards the door, he begins flipping through the book. The first few pages were designs of costumes and hairstyles, but then he begins to see a familiar face. Page after page is filled with him. Different expressions, different hairstyles, even different outfits. But the face is the same. _Is this how he sees me?_ Enjolras thinks. Even he has to admit he looks pretty damn good. His lips are fuller and his eyes brighter; he looks like a real model.

As he flips through the next few pages, he hears a door open. “Hey,” Grantaire calls out as Enjolras looks up. “What are you doing?” He rushes over, shoving the papers at Enjolras. “Y-you looked at all that?” He looks up nervously, as if Enjolras is going to get angry.

“They’re really good,” Enjolras says quietly. Grantaire visibly relaxes.

“Well your face isn’t one easily forgotten,” Grantaire replies, his snarky smirk back on.

“Why do you draw me like that?” He asks, filling out the forms.

“Like what?” _You know exactly what I mean._

“Like a freaking model.”

“That’s what you look like, dear,” Grantaire replies flippantly. “I draw what I see.”

Frowning, Enjolras lets it slide. It’s of no importance. He thrusts the forms at Grantaire and mutters a quick goodbye.

“See you around, Apollo!” Grantaire calls as he leaves the building. Frowning, Enjolras tries to get that voice out of his head, but it is stuck. Resigned to the laughing tone, he hails a cab and makes his way back to the headquarters, hoping for good news.

.oOo.

Later that evening, after reconvening with his friends and having them laugh at his plight, Enjolras returned to his apartment, only to get a text from Courfeyrac the moment he sits down.

**Come to the z club enj were havin a partyyyyyyyyyyyyy –C**

_I’m busy. –E_

**F wants 2 talk to u bout something, just stop by ok? I have a date 2night nd u should meet him ;) –C**

**Hes super cute –C**

**Like ryan gosling x10 cute –C**

_Fine ill be over just stop texting me –E_

Enjolras changed into clean clothes and headed out to the Z-Club. It is a favorite of all the friends: Enjolras liked it because they treated their workers well and donated to prevalent causes, Courfeyrac liked it because there were lots of beautiful people and good drinks there. It passed all the health regulations, so Joly and Bossuet would stop by from time to time, and everyone else just followed.

When he enters the dark room, lights flashing and bass pounding, he makes his way through the throng of bodies to the corner Combeferre always takes. So far, only Joly, Bossuet, and Combeferre have arrived, but Combeferre assures Enjolras that Courfeyrac and his date will arrive soon.

Sure enough, Enjolras has barely gotten his water when Courfeyrac comes rushing over towing none other than Jehan, blushing pink.

“Enjolras!” He crows, pushing Jehan in front of him. “Meet the love of my life, Jean Prouvaire-but-you-can-call-him-Jehan! Isn’t he beautiful?”

Before Enjolras can say anything, Jehan has launched himself into his arms. “Enjolras! You know Courfeyrac? Isn’t he a dear?” At Courfeyrac’s confused look, Jehan explains. “I’m the PA for the artist Enjolras is modelling for today. He is really good.”

“I heard he got some compliments?” Courfeyrac says, eyes glinting.

“Well Grantaire’s all but in love with him, isn’t that right?” Jehan looked behind Enjolras and Enjolras followed his eyes when he sees the dreaded man walking towards them.

“Well I can appreciate a nice body, and Apollo here delivers.” That goddamn voice. Grantaire has changed and is wearing tight clothes that don’t leave anything to the imagination.

“Wait, you’re the artist?” Courfeyrac says incredulously. “I thought you were just here to make sure I don’t kill Jehan?”

“Both, actually. But Jehan really doesn’t need taking care of, he can kick your ass by himself,” Grantaire chuckles.

“Oh, this is fantastic!” Courfeyrac says gleefully, letting go of Jehan for a moment to grab Grantaire’s hand. “Tell me everything about this little project you have going on with Enjolras!” He settles Grantaire in a seat between him and Enjolras, pulling Jehan onto his lap.

Fuming at his space being invaded, Enjolras can’t help that Grantaire smelled…intoxicating. Like someone takes a fancy cologne and dusted it with ash and brandy and why is he thinking these things he’s has nothing to drink what is going on.

While his existential crisis is going on, Grantaire has launched into a highly-dramatized version of the day’s events, causing Enjolras’ scowl to deepen whenever the artist nudges his shoulder.

“It is not like that-“

“You loved it, just admit to me that you loved it-“

“It is gross and sweaty-“

“But like just-has-sex sweat!” Grantaire finishes with a flourish, nearly knocking over his third drink. “The prettiest sweat I’ve ever seen.” He turns to smile at Enjolras and for some reason the smile isn’t the sharp one Enjolras is used to, but one more subdued and soft. It is weird, to say the least.

Finally, it is obvious that Jehan is too drunk to function, so Courfeyrac offers to take him home. Grantaire slurs a no at that, rambling about taking advantage of a poor drunk and waggling his eyebrows at Enjolras simultaneously. Apparently, he and Jehan have some sort of drunk-symbiotic relationship where they can adequately take care of the other in various states of intoxication.

“So I say goodbye to you, dear friends, and we must do this again!” Grantaire crows, raising his empty glass. It clunks down as he reaches for Enjolras’ hand. “If only to see such a beautiful specimen up close!”

“You’ve seen me naked,” Enjolras sighs, ignoring the blush that rises when Grantaire pressed his lips swiftly to Enjolras’ hand.

“And you wonder why I stick around,” he replies, winking as he takes Jehan’s hand. “ _Au revoir, mes amis_!”

Soon, they’re gone and the rest of the friends are left in general states of wonder.

“That is…something,” Joly says, looking away from Bossuet. His boyfriend nods, wide-eyed.

“And that’s your artist?” Combeferre asks, turning to a blushing Enjolras.

“He’s not _my_ artist, he’s an arrogant dick,” Enjolras mutters in return.

“Seems like someone has a bit of a crush!” Courfeyrac calls, grinning.

Enjolras glowers and shakes his head. “Of course not! That’s insane. Why would I want to be around such…such an idiot!?”

“Because he’s got a nice ass.”

“No he most certainly doesn’t.”

“Admit it, you could bounce a quarter off of that butt! Just go on a date with him!” Courfeyrac laments, draping his body over Enjolras’. “You haven’t gotten laid in years!”

“Not all of us feel the need to have sex every minute of every day, Courf.” Enjolras takes another sip of his water as he looked around. Joly and Bossuet seem to be holding in their laughter, and he quickly glares at them.

“Crass as he is, Courfeyrac has a point, Enjolras,” Combeferre says quietly.

Enjolras whips his head around. “You’re agreeing with him on this?”

“Not all of it, but it would help if you could get closer to Grantaire. Maybe he would tell you more if you were closer to him?”

“I’m not going on a date just for information, especially with such an asshole.”

“Over 50 million animals a year are tested on,” Joly shoots in.

“Cosmetic companies across the globe use 38 chemicals that aren’t FDA approved,” Bossuet ads.

“People have _died_ from using unsafe mascara!” Courfeyrac bewails.

“Testing on animals is still a legal requirement in China!”

“92% of drugs tested on animals aren’t even safe for human consumption!”

The facts kept flying out, and Enjolras is secretly proud of all the information his friends has gathered. Maybe…maybe he could do something about it. “Alright! Fine! One date, that’s all.”

“Oh, it’ll be more than one date, you’re going to get married!” Courfeyrac shouts. He raises his glass. “To the happy couple!”

Enjolras grimaces as he takes a drink of something fruity, then excuses himself citing work that needs to be done.

It is only after he has gotten home and is lying in bed that he realizes what has happened.

He is going on a date. With Grantaire.

And he would have to _ask Grantaire out._

What has he gotten himself into?

.oOo.

The next day, Enjolras spends the majority of his time puttering around his apartment, doing menial tasks to avoid his accursed phone. It’s been ringing since noon (trust Courfeyrac not to get up any earlier) and after the first squealing message, he attempts to ignore it.

However, when the sun began to set he gets a single text from Combeferre.

**Call him, you idiot –Combeferre**

Loath as he is to admit it, Enjolras knows Combeferre is right. He scrolls through his phone, trying to tell himself that this is going to be fine, it will all be fine, when he realizes he doesn’t have Grantaire’s number. Without thinking, he pulled on a coat and rushed to find a cab…in rush hour. Shit.

Twenty minutes later (it would have been faster to walk) he arrives at ABC Cosmetics. However, it is almost six and the offices has been closed for an hour. For the first time in his life, Enjolras regrets not thinking something out. He decides to simply wait out the rush hour and takes a seat on a bench on the curb. Somehow, he would have to get Grantaire’s number for this stupid date thing.

“Enjolras? Is that you?”

Enjolras turns around to see Grantaire coming out of the side door, sketchbook in hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to ask you something,” Enjolras says, looking down. Now that he thinks about it, this is a stupid idea.

“You didn’t think to come earlier?”

“I was…busy.”

“Of course. What? Modelling for more lucky men? I know I can’t be the-“

“Go on a date with me,” Enjolras interrupts, unable to take the snarky tone anymore.

Grantaire freezes. Literally, his face stops moving between syllables and every inch of his body is taut. “W-what is that? Did I hear that right?”

Enjolras repeats his sentence, blushing. Why is he blushing? This is for _the cause_.  It’s not like he actually wanted to date the nasty man. Not at all.

“And what brought on this sudden revelation?”

“You interest me.”

“That is all, Apollo? Hundreds of men interest me but that doesn’t mean I want to date them. Besides, what would you want with a cynic like me?” He says this in a matter-of-fact tone as he sat down beside Enjolras.

“George Carlin says scratch any cynic and you’ll find a disappointed idealist.”

“Mencken says that a cynic smells flowers and looks around for a coffin.”

“Colbert says cynicism is a self-imposed blindness.”

“Bierce says that a cynic is a man who sees things as they are, not as they should be.”

“This is why I want to go out on a date with you.” The minute Enjolras says it, he knew it is true. “I know you’re something more than this façade you put up, and I want to find out what you’re hiding.”

“Nothing worth finding.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much,” Enjolras says primly. “Now I have to get home to finish some work. We’ll plan the date at a later time?”

Grantaire nods, grinning. He pulls out a pen and scrawls some numbers onto Enjolras’ arm. “My number. Call me sometime?” He winks and walks away, but not before pressing a swift kiss on Enjolras’ cheek. Enjolras’ skin burned where his lips made contact, and he did _not_ watch as Grantaire walks away, calling: “glad to know I’m more than just a pretty face!”

Enjolras huffs, but smiles as he called a cab. Maybe this will work. However, what he exactly wants Enjolras is no longer sure about. Instead of introspection, he chooses to focus on their next protest at a march in favor of assisted suicide.

.oOo.

Enjolras is too fucking nervous for a date. It’s a stupid first date, for god’s sake! It isn’t marriage, or the end or the world, or both. Grantaire had sent a simple text, giving him directions to a Chinese place Enjolras knew well, asking if it would be okay. After five and a half minutes of deliberating, Enjolras sent back a simple “yeah, sounds good,” before wondering why he’d done that and when he could stop fucking everything up. He’d then proceeded to try on six different shirt-and-pants combinations until he took a deep breath and told himself to chill out. This isn’t him and this is not for pleasure. It’s for business only, but he needs Grantaire to like him in order to get information.

Combeferre had suggested keeping the topics light, while Courfeyrac has sent him a list.

Things Enjolras is not allowed to do so he gets laid rather than kicked in the balls

  1. Talk about anything political at all (yes, even historical).
  2. Mention the cause in any way/shape/form.
  3. Be a dick in general.
  4. Reference a textbook, SEP article, or Descartes speech.
  5. Eat scallops (you know they’re bad for you stop lying to yourself).
  6. Shout when he doesn’t agree with you.
  7. Donate your dinner money to the nearest homeless man.
  8. Please, don’t be a dick.



Enjolras shows up to the restaurant a half hour early, but is surprised to see Grantaire already at a table.

“You too?” he asks sheepishly as Enjolras sat down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Enjolras replies.

They fall into an uncomfortable silence as Enjolras glances down at the menu. Luckily, a waitress saves him from saying anything embarrassing.

“Can I get you guys anything?” She asks, fluttering her eyelashes at them. While Grantaire deliberates, Enjolras frowns at the waitress. It seems she cares more about shoving her breasts into Grantaire’s face than about the actual order. After Grantaire has rattled off the name of an expensive wine, Enjolras snaps “water” and all but slams his menu on the table. And these were the people whose rights he is protecting.

“Someone’s a bit grumpy,” Grantaire says in a sing-song voice. “Care to share with the class?”

“She is being rude.”

“I thought she is perfectly hospitable.”

Enjolras sulks.

“I’m sorry, Enjolras. That is rude.”

“No, I is out of line. I apologize as well.” Enjolras takes a deep breath and put on his political face. He has to be pleasant for this experience if he wanted any information.

The silence returns after they got their drinks, and Enjolras starts nervously playing with his napkin.

“What the fuck, Apollo?” Grantaire suddenly bursts out, looking tired and angry. “What are we even doing here, first of all, and second, why are you acting like you have something stuck up your ass?” He seems to contemplate for a moment and then turns a feral grin onto Enjolras. “ _Do_ you have something up your ass?”

“Of course not,” Enjolras splutters. “And I don’t understand your other question.”

Sighing, Grantaire takes a sip of wine. “Why are you acting so dickish? Like, you haven’t says a word except for your little freak-out over the waitress and you look miserable.”

“It isn’t a freak-out—“

“But it totally is.”

“She is completely out of line. That kind of attitude is completely inappropriate for a workplace! How can a proprietor allow this sort of—“

“See? That’s what I haven’t seen this evening,” Grantaire interrupts, grinning.

“What are you talking about?”

“That fire! Remember? When you were flipping your shit about animal rights and you got this…this fucking blaze and it is beautiful.”

“Y-you…what?” Enjolras curses himself for being so recognizable. He needs to keep that side of him under wraps if he wanted to get somewhere. People don’t like the whole “revolutionary” side of him.

“Unf,” Grantaire groans, and Enjolras is _not_ looking at his neck, of course not. “You looked like an avenging angel, it is glorious! How can I see that again?”

“What, you want me to argue with you?”

Grantaire nods vigorously. “Indeed I do, fair Enjolras. Why?”

Enjolras pulls out his phone and shows Grantaire the message from Courfeyrac. In turn, Grantaire almost falls out of his chair laughing. Enjolras turns bright red, thinking maybe this isn’t such a good idea. However, Grantaire laughing at him isn’t bad…in fact he likes hearing the deep laugh and seeing the truly happy smile on the man’s face; it is different than the smirk he normally wore, and Enjolras likes it.

Once Grantaire has calmed down and Enjolras’ face has taken on its normal hue, they actually began to talk. Civilly.

Enjolras finds out more about Grantaire than any receipts or sketchbooks could ever tell him. He finds out his favorite color, why he became an artist, how he’d met Jehan, all of it. Grantaire has told him stories of messing with teachers at art school while laughing and recounting his not-so-wonderful childhood with a somber face.

And it still isn’t enough. Enjolras wants to know everything and anything about Grantaire. He doesn’t care if it is as menial as what he’d had for breakfast the day before; Enjolras wanted to know. Of course, he learned next to nothing about ABC, but that isn’t important.

For the first time in his life, Enjolras is enjoying the company of someone who isn’t associated with his political views.

But then Grantaire asks the fated question:

“What about you?” He asks, piling rice onto his plate. “All this time we’ve been talking about boring ol’ me. I want to hear about you!” He takes a bite, grinning. “Or we could argue…”

Enjolras asks if it’s worth it. If it’s worth jeopardizing the entire mission for some artist, and finds out that it is.

“If you really want to try your luck at changing my mind, choose a topic.”

Grantaire’s face lights up and he thinks for a moment before shouting out “tax reform” and grinning wickedly.

“What about it,” Enjolras questions. Surely Grantaire isn’t a crazy, right-winged fanatic who thinks it crazy to raise taxes.

“Well, I assume you’ll take the affirmative position, so I get to play the devil’s advocate and watch your face turn the most beautiful shades of pink.”

Enjolras does not blush at that, choosing instead to reply: “but you can’t honestly think that raising taxes is a bad idea, right?”

“The people hate taxes, we know that for sure. How would raising taxes make them more lenient to the government?”

“Because it would help lower the national deficit! There is more at stake than a few measly dollars going to the newest iPhone model.”

“Yes, but average people don’t see it like that. By raising taxes, they will turn their hatred towards the person who put those taxes in place. Nothing will get done when the people are fighting the government.”

“Yet our national debt is almost $17 trillion!”

“So how would raising taxes help? Something much larger needs to be done-“

“At least it would be doing _something_.”

“But when taxes go up, people are more frugal which lends to them spending less and the economy not being stimulated by consumers. How is that beneficial?”

“If it will help even in the slightest, it will be worth it in the long run.”

“And what about equality? I assume you don’t want to tax the poor, unless you do?”

“Of course not. Those who make the most must pay the most.”

“But doesn’t that go against the basic ideals of equality? How are we supposed to see ourselves as a democracy when some people are taxed more heavily than others simply because they have a smaller advantage over others? Does it not say that we are all created equal? Why aren’t we treated as such?”

“Because the idea that the concentration of wealth lies within the top 1% is outrageous! That is where the issue with equality lies, not within the amount of taxes paid!”

The arrival of their food interrupts the conversation, but Grantaire’s eyes are beautiful when he’s all lit up like this. And Enjolras feels…alive. It has been so long since someone argued with him like this. Usually, people are too afraid to truly aggravate him. Yet Grantaire hasn’t once backed down. He always has a point to refute or a source to cite. He is never at a loss for words, and Enjolras can feel himself falling more and more for the artist.

Yet he hasn’t found out a single damn thing about ABC.

But he can’t bring himself to care.

.oOo.

The date goes splendidly, in that they finish the delicious food and almost get kicked out of the restaurant for being too loud. They’re laughing when they leave, and Grantaire grabs Enjolras’ hand and holds it close as they meander down the dark streets.

“Need some help getting home, Apollo?” he asks mockingly, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’ hand.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you,” Enjolras responds, holding Grantaire as he stumbles forward a bit.

“Only a teensy-weensy, itty-bitty bit,” Grantaire responds. “Besides, I live about two blocks from this place. You, however, live across town.” He leans close to Enjolras’ ear. “Jehan told me your apartment building is very cute.”

“ _You’re_ very cute,” Enjolras mutters in return, not thinking about the words until Grantaire nearly falls over with laughter.

“Oh Enjolras,” Grantaire manages to get out between laughs, “you are the worst seducer in the history of everything.” With that, he grabs Enjolras’ face between his hands and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

Surprised at first, Enjolras quickly reciprocates, winding his arms around Grantaire’s waist and pulling him closer. The kiss is innocent, but filled with meaning and Enjolras is overwhelmed.

All too soon, Grantaire lets go and motions to his left. “Your carriage awaits, my prince.” Enjolras turns, still hazy from the kiss, to see a cab idling beside them. He nods, looking at his feet.

“Um, thank you for coming. I…I has fun.”

“I should hope you were suitably impressed with my arguments.” Grantaire winks at him, opening the cab door. “We’re going to have to do this again, I can’t _wait_ to hear you go on about marriage equality.”

Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, Enjolras slides into the cab, muttering his address as he watches Grantaire strut down the street. His lips still tingle, and he smiles the entire way home.

Once he’s safe in his house, Enjolras pulls out his phone. Three missed calls and ten texts, all from Courfeyrac. Hesitating slightly, Enjolras opens them.

**So…the date! –C**

**HOW IS IT TELL ME –C**

**Are you kissing? –C**

**IS HE A GOOD KISSER I WILL ASK JEHAN FOR YOU –C**

**Attention! Apparently he is a v good kisser so go test that –C**

**Can I dance at ur wedding –C**

**ITS BEEN TWO HOURS HOW LONG IS THIS DATE –C**

**Ooh maybe youre having sex!!! That’s my boy! –C**

**Or maybe Grantaire killed u and now has ur phone –C**

**HI GRANTAIRE! –C**

Sighing and running a hand over his face, Enjolras texts out a response:

_The date went well, I’m not dead, we’re not having sex, and I never want to see you dance again once is enough –E_

_Also he’s a terribly good kisser. –E_

All he gets in response is a solid line of exclamation points.

.oOo.

Slowly, Enjolras’ life finds a sort of pattern. Of course, he still has his meetings and his riots and his speeches, but now those things are interspersed with days spent simply sitting by Grantaire’s side, watching him doodle or paint. Enjolras could spend days just talking with Grantaire and not even realize time passed. Grantaire takes him to the best hole-in-the-wall pubs in the city, and Enjolras returns the favor by taking him to the beautiful parks and lakes where Grantaire says the light is perfect and takes photo after photo of Enjolras. Enjolras pretends to be annoyed, but he loves the way Grantaire’s face lights up when he thinks he’s found the perfect spot.

Of course, each meeting Combeferre asks Enjolras if he’s learned anything new about ABC and each time Enjolras has to say no, feeling guiltier and guiltier as time goes by. Courfeyrac will tell Combeferre to stop harassing the poor man, can’t you see he’s in love? And Enjolras will interject saying he just needs a few more days, and it will all be sorted out. Now can we get back to that pride parade?

It’s almost perfect. Until it’s suddenly not.

It all falls apart on the most unlikely of days. Enjolras has finally gotten Grantaire to open up about the goings on at ABC, citing the reason as he wants more things to argue about. Grantaire goes out of his way to find obscure causes that will make Enjolras hit the roof, whispering in his ear while they’re making out: “hundreds of Malaysian schools are being forced to close because of poor air quality.” Enjolras will yell at him for ruining the mood, but then start off on one of his well-loved rants and suddenly a protest will be organized against it.

However, when Grantaire starts to talk about ABC, it’s more than Enjolras could ever imagine.

“Okay, you know I don’t agree with any of what I’m going to say, right?” Grantaire starts off as they’re cuddled next to each other, Enjolras running fingers through Grantaire’s curls. “I mean, I just work for them, I don’t actually like what they’re doing.”

Enjolras nods and Grantaire continues.

“Well you already know about the factories where we get our stuff from, I presume, but ABC is currently tied up in this legal scandal with one of their agencies in Taiwan. Basically, the factory there that’s making one of the spring perfumes has been getting complaints about sickness from their workers. Turns out, one of the ingredients in the perfume is toxic when not treated correctly, so something like 20 people got sick and eight of them died. ABC covered it up as best they could, but one of the workers is suing us because her sister is one of the victims. Something about workplace safety? Point is, ABC is flipping out about this and trying to keep the lid on it so no one leaks it to the press. Once they got their hands on this news, shit would hit the fan.” He turns to Enjolras. “So, what do you think?”

Enjolras tries to stay calm. This is exactly what they were looking for. This is their big chance, their chance to change the world. But he has to answer Grantaire. “It’s barbaric!” he shouts, pulling Grantaire closer. “The idea that the lives of workers aren’t important? Not only from a social standpoint, but from an economic view as well, this is bullshit!”

Enjolras rants and Grantaire listens, interjecting a point here or there, but Enjolras’ mind is far off, planning the best way to get information on this latest development. All too soon, Grantaire has to leave because apparently some font is fucked up and he needs to fix it _right now_ or the world will fall into shambles. Enjolras presses a kiss to his lips and lets him go, immediately pulling out his phone and sending out a mass text.

_I have the information, get ready to research. –E_

They’re up all night researching. Everyone shows up at Enjolras’ house because he has the fastest Wi-Fi, and Courfeyrac proceeds to hack the ABC’s website to find any information about the story. Joly checks the medical journals, and Enjolras and Combeferre look through local newspapers. Thank god Bossuet speaks Chinese, or else many of the Xeroxed papers would be illegible. After nearly twelve hours of work, they come up with enough information to send off to the major news corporations.

“Enjolras, are you sure about this?” Combeferre asks as Enjolras is about to send the email.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? This is our chance, Combeferre! We can make a difference!”

“Well, what about Grantaire?”

“What about him?” Enjolras is confused; when did they start taking about Grantaire?

“Well, he told you this information in confidence, do you want to break that trust?”

“He’ll understand, it’s to make a better world. Besides, this is your idea in the first place.”

“Fine, I just want to make sure you’re thinking about this.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and presses send, unwillingly sealing his fate.

.oOo.

The story breaks at noon the next day.

“BREAKING NEWS: Famed Cosmetics Company Charged With Death of Eight Factory Workers”

“ABC Cosmetics is involved in the deaths of 8 workers and countless injuries after using toxic chemicals in their Spring Collection perfumes.”

“The sister of one victim, Lucy Cheung, is suing the company for $10 million, causing outrage from the executives.”

“ABC Cosmetics CEO Angela Thenardier has not offered a comment on the deaths, but others in the company call it a “tragic mistake” and do not take the blame.”

“ABC stocks suffer massive drop after breaking story of factory deaths in Taiwan.”

Enjolras feels a moment of pure success before his doorbell begins to blare. Assuming it’s Courfeyrac coming to celebrate, Enjolras bounds over to let him in, unprepared for Grantaire’s stormy face before him, his normally paint-covered hands holding a newspaper.

“What’s this?” Grantaire asks, his voice cold and deep.

“It’s the news, what else would it be?” Enjolras asks, confused as to why Grantaire is angry.

“I don’t think you’ve realizes what you’ve done, Enjolras! I told you that information in confidence, and now I’m out of a job because ABC want’s someone new to recreate their image!”

“Wait, what? You were fired?”

Grantaire storms past him, looking around his apartment. “Why did you break the story, Enjolras?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Because we need to be heard. Protests and blogs will only get us so far, and sometimes things must be says in order to fix the world.”

“Wait, who’s we?”

“My…group.” Enjolras goes to his computer and pulls up their blog. “The Society for Justice. We just want to make the world a better place.”

“Do you ever see anything other than the big picture?” Grantaire asks, scrolling down the blog. “You talk about saving the people, but how many people have you pushed under the tracks to get what you want?”

“Sacrifices must be made for the future.”

“Sacrifices like me?” Grantaire looks around for a second. “Wait…is that all this is? Were you dating me to get this information? Is that what all this has been about? Making the world a “better place”?”

“It may have started out like that…” Enjolras begins, feeling less and less sure of himself as moments passed.

“What? You’ve come to “care” about me through this whole mess?” Unwillingly, Enjolras nods. Grantaire just laughs at this. “And now you want me to forgive you and put this all behind us, right?”

“Grantaire, this isn’t supposed to happen, you weren’t supposed to find out-“

“To find out that I was collateral damage in your crusade for a better world?” His laugh is harsh and Enjolras hates it. “Sorry Apollo,” he spits the name out, throwing the newspaper on the floor. “I can’t do this anymore. I hope you’re happy with your brand new world.”

With those words, Grantaire strode out of his door, leaving Enjolras feeling more hopeless than before.

How much has he lost, trying to fix it all?

.oOo.

Courfeyrac did arrive at his house, bringing beer and friends, but Enjolras is not in the mood. He might have just lost the best thing in his life, and he can’t do anything to fix it.

“Enjolras, don’t you want something to drink?” Courfeyrac asks, walking over to where Enjolras is tapping away on his computer, trying to ignore the jubilant cheers from behind him.

“I’m not in the mood, Courf,” Enjolras snaps.

“Whoa, what happened? Why aren’t you pleased as a peach that all of your hard work isn’t fruitless?”

“It isn’t work!” Enjolras shouts, standing up. “It isn’t a hardship, or trying, or anything! I is enjoying myself, and now I’ve gone and fucked it all up!”

“I have a feeling we aren’t talking about the company anymore.” Courfeyrac gently grabbed Enjolras by the shoulders, pulling him to an armchair. “What happened?”

“Grantaire thinks I was using him just for information.”

“Wasn’t that the original plan, though?” Joly shouted from across the room, drunk on cheap beer. Courfeyrac quickly shushed him and turned back to Enjolras.

“At first, but then I…I mean maybe….I don’t—“ Enjolras looked down at his hands. “I think I might love him and I fucked everything up and he probably hates me now and I don’t know how to fix this because how is he supposed to know that I changed my mind? It’s a lame excuse even in my own head.”

Courfeyrac immediately sweeps down, grabbing Enjolras into a crushing hug. “Oh my poor baby!” He wails. At Combeferre and Joly’s looks, Courfeyrac explains: “Our little fighter’s in _love_!”

“With Grantaire?” Combeferre asks, walking over and putting a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Why isn’t he here?”

“They has a fight and now Enjolras, enlightened about his love, will rush over to him in a grand romantic gesture and will throw pebbles at his window and shout his undenying love to the entire city. Then they’ll get married and I’ll dance at their wedding!” Courfeyrac explains quickly.

“No, he wants nothing to do with me. He made that much very clear,” Enjolras groans.

“Let the hype die down, then go talk to him,” Combeferre says, voice calming. Combeferre is always the voice of reason, and Enjolras is grateful for him at a time like this.

Enjolras simply nods, hoping he can fix this shithole he fell into.

A shout comes up from Joly and Bossuet. “Fareed Zakaria wrote about it guys!” shouts Joly, and Enjolras takes a deep breath and goes to join his friends. No point in crying over spilt milk, he would clean it up later.

Of course later turns out to be three weeks, four days, and eight hours after Grantaire left. Enjolras has slowly been going stir-crazy. Since they sent the information in anonymously, there were no interviews or backlash that lead to them, they simply watched from the sidelines as the world exploded. More dirty secrets were uncovered about ABC, and Standard & Poor dropped their credit rating, causing economic backlash and hundreds of people getting laid off. Enjolras is filled with guilt when he thought of Grantaire being one of those people. And he has done that to him.

When Jehan has finally gotten to Enjolras, he’d nearly brained him. His normally high-pitched voice dropped to terrifying levels as he ranted about how Enjolras has ruined Grantaire’s life and how the man wouldn’t even paint anymore and what did Enjolras have to say for himself?

Enjolras has simply told him the truth: he is in love with Grantaire. Jehan has hugged him after that and made him mint tea.

Even with all of the drama surrounding the company, _Un Coeur Plein d’Amour_ is still released, and if there is one thing to make Enjolras feel worse it is seeing his face in every magazine. Grantaire’s design is beautiful. He and Eponine were stunning with the backdrop, and the accents of red were vibrant and bloody. It made Enjolras feel horrible.

Courfeyrac loved it, wanting to meet the “beautiful babe he got to work with”, but when Enjolras threatened to bleach his hair he stopped teasing.

Of course, he is bound to run into Grantaire sometime. Enjolras knew this and has prepared countless speeches and collected hundreds of quotes to try and convince Grantaire it is all a mistake. Of course, when he actually sees Grantaire, all of that goes out the window.

He’s walking past a small café and he sees a man hunched over a table, empty beer glasses and cigarette butts littering the table. When the head lifts up, piercing blue eyes meet Enjolras’ and everything stops.

_I miss you, I’m sorry, I love you._

Enjolras rushes over, ignoring Grantaire’s mutters of “go away asshole”.

“I just want to talk to you! You have to understand!”

“Seriously, I don’t want to talk-“

“But I do! I miss you, and I’m so sorry about everything and I will do anything in my power to fix it! I’ll find you a new job, you can crash at my place, I just-I’m so damn sorry.”

“I bet you are, but the thing is you used me and that’s a douchey thing to do,” Grantaire says matter-of-factly, as if Enjolras isn’t baring his heart at some random café. “I trusted you and you betrayed me, and I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“That’s a lame-ass excuse Grantaire and you know it!” Enjolras takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a minute before trying to remember any argument he has to get Grantaire back. It’s all fucking gone.

“No offense, Enjolras, but I’ve got to go job-hunting, so I’m going to leave now.” Grantaire throws some bills onto the table and winks. “Thanks for the talk, it’s been fun.”

Last chance. Don’t fuck up. Give an excuse use your words use your arguments logical steps must be taken think of a premise don’t-

“But I love you!”

Grantaire stops and turns around, his face slack.

Shit, he didn’t mean to say that oh god. Enjolras feels his face heat up.

“D-do you mean that?” Grantaire asks quietly, “or is this another ploy to make me trust you?”

“It’s the fucking truth, Grantaire, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Grantaire walks back over, looking Enjolras in the eye. “If you really mean that, we might make this work. Let me take you on a date tomorrow, and we can try again.”

Enjolras nods furiously. “Anything. When should I show up?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven. Dress warmly.” Grantaire presses a quick kiss to Enjolras’ cheek and leaves.

Fantastic. Not only has he admitted his love in front of an entire café full of people, but he needs to somehow convince Grantaire during an entire date that he’s worth a second chance.

Suddenly, he feels a tap on his shoulder, and turns around to see a little old lady with a cup of coffee. “Just be yourself, dear, nothing bad ever happens to those who are honest.”

Enjolras nods, thanks her for the advice, and rushes home. Time to compile some evidence.

.oOo.

Grantaire shows up promptly at seven and Enjolras is prepared. He goes over the things he’s going to say and toys with the notecards in his pockets.

“Ready?” Grantaire asks, not quite meeting Enjolras’ eye. Enjolras nods and follows him out to a car parked by the curb. It’s a beat-up black corvette but it smells like Grantaire’s cologne and Enjolras is happy. Grantaire chuckles fondly as Enjolras sniffs the seats, pulling onto the highway.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

The silence is not their normal, comfortable silence. It’s stifling. There are too many unanswered questions, too many unresolved conflicts. Enjolras decides to fix it.

“I...um…I have some letters for you.”

Grantaire looks over, confused. “Why do you have letters for me?”

“Because I messed up and I understand that and I know what I did is wrong but I also know I love you and I know you don’t believe that but I need you to because I need you to trust me so I have evidence that I love you. In letters.”

“And who are these letters from?” He is way too damn calm for the situation.

“Friends. People who know me and you. Unbiased witnesses because I know how much you hate bias in your sources and that’s why you avoid Fox News and MSNBC like the plague and you also like people from both sides like Al Jazeera and BBC so they’re not just my friends but yours too.”

Grantaire looks away from the road and smiles. “You got people to write letters for me?”

“How else would I convince you? I can’t draw like you so a portfolio would be worthless, and speeches aren’t useful since you doubt my word. Evidence like this isn’t something you can throw away so easily.”

By the time he finishes his spiel, they’ve stopped. Enjolras follows Grantaire out of the car and sees they’re in a field outside of the city. “I thought we could have a picnic,” Grantaire says quietly. “This way, if we start yelling, we won’t get kicked out of a restaurant.”

Enjolras doesn’t trust his words so he hands over the letters.

They sit, side by side, against the car as Grantaire opens and reads letters from Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, and Eponine. Enjolras has spent quite a while trying to get a hold of Eponine and it takes even longer convincing her. She automatically sided with Grantaire, and he nearly gave up on her before she agreed.

It takes almost an hour to finish the letters, and Enjolras has begun chewing nervously at his finger as Grantaire finished the last one. Then, he put the papers down and simply looked at Enjolras. Enjolras tries to find some emotion in his face, but it is all locked up.

“Do you want to say anything?” Grantaire asks quietly.

“I didn’t read the letters and I want you to trust me again and I need you to understand and I don’t know how to do that,” Enjolras whispers very quickly.

“Then you should know that your friends—and mine, apparently—truly care about you and you seem to have convinced them.”

“But have I convinced you?”

Grantaire smiles and Enjolras’ heart starts beating a little bit faster. “You know my favorite news corporations.”

“I want to know more about you.”

“Well it’s a good thing I love you, then.”

Enjolras beams. Grantaire loves him. He reaches forward and puts a hand on Grantaire’s face, a silent question. Grantaire answers but lunging forward and capturing his lips in a kiss.

“I love you so much and I have since that first date,” he mutters in between kisses.

“You should’ve says something!” Enjolras exclaims, pulling back. “I—I thought you didn’t-“

“Well I was busy finding out my boyfriend is using me for information.”

Enjolras looked down. “I’m so sorry about that-“

“We’ll talk later. Right now, we have a picnic.” He pulls out a real basket and hands Enjolras a sandwich.

“I love you,” Enjolras says as thanks.

“I know,” Grantaire returns, grinning.

.oOo.

Everyone was relieved Enjolras has stopped moping. Grantaire nearly chokes from laughing when Courfeyrac tells him about Enjolras’ pining.

“Do you know how annoying Lana Del Ray is after a while?” Courfeyrac groans at dinner.

“You stooped that low, Enjolras?” Grantaire teases, poking Enjolras in the stomach.

“Shut up. It is perfectly normal to do odd things when one finds out he is in love.”

“Well eating Cherry Garcia ice cream until you puke is never normal!” Joly shouts, “nor is it healthy!”

“No more Lana Del Ray or Cherry Garcia,” Grantaire says, pecking Enjolras on the lips, “now you have me.”

“Yes I do, and I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Enjolras got Grantaire a job with a fashion magazine that allowed a lot of leeway in the design. Grantaire always lamented that the models were never as beautiful as his Apollo, but Enjolras could tell he is secretly glad.

Now that Grantaire knew about the Society for Justice, he became an active and useful member. He looked over Enjolras’ speeches to check for any holes or stupid mistakes, and introduced them to the artist activists who were helpful with many causes.

Of course, Grantaire never forgot what happened with ABC and sometimes in a fight Grantaire would have to leave for a few hours and Enjolras would make stupid mistakes and fuck up, but everything always worked out, and always will work out, because Enjolras has proof that it could.


End file.
